Where We Land
by StolenCompass
Summary: CS AU: How old were people when they were taught about love? Princess Emma Swan was seven, and she was taught by a lost little prince named Killian Jones. This is the story of the times they had met, and the moments that made them whole.
1. Chapter 1

**By popular (not) demand, I post this CS AU as a multi-chapter fic. Enjoy! Also, don't forget to tell me what you think.**

* * *

"Once upon a time in a land far, far away... there was a very unruly, very rude princess-

"Daddy, I know you're talking about me!"

King David of the Enchanted Forest is known for his patience, along with his absolute kindness in governing his people, alongside his wife, Queen Snow White. The kingdom admires them both because of the prosperity and goodwill their reign has brought. His patience had prevented wars from waging, had mediated and ended long rivalries, and even solved small townspeople problems. King David was most definitely known for his patience.

But lately, King David's patience has been tested by a young girl, roughly the age of seven. This young girl, their daughter, Princess Emma, with her long golden curls, and her bright sea green eyes, was known for walking around the palace with mischief in tow. When a plate is filled with snails and leaves, or an armor display is positioned like a horse, everyone knows. Everyone. Just. Knows. Today, in particular, was one of the hardest days with Princess Emma's antics seemingly taking on a new light.

The king looked at his daughter who was lying on her bed, her blanket tucked under her chin as her eyes looked up at him hopefully. "That was a bad thing you did, Emma. You know that."

"Yes, daddy," she replied, looking away. He can see the frown on her lips, but her eyes held something else entirely. King David knows his daughter better than anyone, and this face that she's making, it just tells him one thing: she might be apologizing, but she is not regretting what she had done. "Can we just please continue on another story? One that's **not** about me?"

King David, in all his eternal patience and fondness of her daughter, smiled, shook his head, and said, "How 'bout you tell _me _a story instead? One that's about a stubborn princess running away from the palace and into the ogre-infested forest to hunt for ogres herself, but found a grubby young boy instead? I hate hearing it from the royal guards. They leave details."

Emma deadpans her father with a glare. "Daddy!" she whines, burrowing deeper into her blanket.

"Come on, baby," he coaxes, giving her a smile. "Tell me what happened."

She sat up on her bed, gave her father some space to sit upon, and sighed. "Fine," she replied, defeated.

* * *

It was a wonder how she got to the forest without any guide, but if she says so herself, she was quite proud about it. Now, her only problem was how to meet an ogre. She caressed the handle of the dagger she kept strapped around her waist as she surveyed her surroundings. Well, there was only one things she knows about ogres: that they are blind. Maybe they're not deaf, so she tried her chances.

"Hey! Ugly ogres! I've come to kill you!"

Crickets. At this time of day. But no, the crickets weren't the only weird sound that came with the wind gusting around her. There was a giggle. A small snicker not far from her.

She listened quietly, if there was more, but there were none. So she called for the ogres again, extracting the dagger from its hilt and waving it around.

And there it was again! The laughter, this time, was louder and more hearty. It was as if someone was laughing at her vain efforts. She tried to locate the sound, looking around her, but all she could see were tall trees. When she thought she had failed on locating the sound, it seemed like it had located **her**.

And it wasn't an **it**, apparently. It was a young boy, roughly the age of nine, with bright blue eyes, dark hair, and dirty face. He appears to be wearing rags. He's a bit lanky, and unkempt, but his eyes held life in them as if he had just been having the time of his life. Emma has seen lots of peasants when her parents take her to parade and survey around the kingdom, but this was the first one she has ever encountered face to face. Well, if being high on top of a tree branch while she was on the ground can be considered face to face.

"Are you lost?" he asks, but there was little concern in his voice, but more teasing in it. "You were calling for your mummy a few seconds ago."

"My... oh you!" she fumes, realizing what he meant by his words. "For your information, I was hunting ogres!"

A spark of amusement filled his eyes as a slow smile crept up his face. "Ogres, then? You think you stand a chance against them? Oh, brave, you are! You'd make a hell of a pirate, princess."

He drops from the tree he was hanging from and lands with cat-like finesse in front of the little princess, still wearing that smirk. "And what're you going to kill them with? That toothpick? That looks like a hair plucked from their noses!"

This boy had just started getting on her nerves, and she quietly seethes as he circled her, seemingly looking her from head to toe, probably judging her by the way she was dressed.

"How dare you speak to royalty like that, peasant?" she said, trying to catch his eye. But he seemed too engrossed with looking at her dress.

"So I wasn't wrong," he mused. "You **are** a princess. Slims your chances against an ogre."

"I have formal training!"

"Not against a real one," he answered quickly, stopping in front of her, merely a meter away from her. His eyes focused on her dagger, and seemed to be taking in its details. He locked his hands behind his back as he rocked back on the balls of his feet, his eyes returning to hers. "And you're lying. I doubt the king and queen would let their girly princess come near anything pointier than their golden forks."

She gave him her best death glare, one she so fondly sends towards Ruby when she's exceptionally infuriating. This kid, apparently, has surpassed her friend. "And what's your proof, huh, boy?"

The nerve! The boy tilted his head with his smirk widening. "The insignia on your dagger is outdated. It belongs to King Arthur's reign a few hundred years ago. You hardly see that anywhere now, but I bet you see that quite often... on the halls of your castle. On display. I bet that was stolen, huh... princess?"

Princess Emma knows that a princess must be well-mannered, polite, must smile even at their enemies, and must not attack them with a hundred-year old dagger. But she has already broken three of those rules already. Why not break the last one? She swings her dagger at him, but he was far too quick, moving out of the way, and snatching her wrist with one of his hands, and disarming her with the other. She followed the dagger skittering on the dirt ground with her eyes, and then looked at the boy with anger in her eyes. He, on the other hand, seemed to have enjoyed what he had done.

"Who are you?" she hissed at him, squirming her wrist, trying to pry his hand away.

"Killian Jones," he replied cheekily. "And you are?"

She sends him a tight smile. "Not telling-

"Princess Emma! There you are-hey!"

She groaned as she heard the clanks of metal armor running through thick undergrowth towards where she was.

"Seems like they found you, Emma," he smiled, "time to go."

And just like that, he was releasing her wrist and scampering off further into the forest.

* * *

King David's eyes widened as she finished her story. "What did you say was his name again?"

"Killian Jones-why daddy?"

But the king didn't give her any answers. Instead, he got up from her bed, his feet thumping on the stone floor hurriedly, as she heard him call for one of his guards. "...tell him we found his son, we found the lost prince. He's here."


	2. Chapter 2

Emma fiddled with the ruffles on her blindingly white dress… a dress her mother had picked out for her. When she looked at herself in her reflection on the carriage's glass window, she pondered on whether her mother chose it out of its immense beauty or just because she hadn't punished the little princess yet and this is it. Her mind seemed more leaning on the latter.

The Charmings had been invited to the East Kingdom's homecoming ball for the long lost prince. Emma, who so reluctantly wore the blindingly white dress her mother had picked out for her, tried to communicate and fit in with the adults, but it seemed a tad bit harder than the usual. There were almost no children in the room, save for August, the puppetmaker's son, who was stuffing his face with the food on the banquet. And she doesn't even know the prince that they were celebrating about! Well, she knows about the prince that was stolen from the East Kingdom when the pirates invaded. He wasn't heard from since, and so the search parties were released throughout the world to find the little prince. But they had no luck… until a few weeks ago.

The hall was packed with the Elegants from all around the kingdom, all chattering about how they "missed" the little prince, almost seemingly untrue when Emma heard it from them. The squire, small and proudly bald, stood up on a high stool and ordered for silence. "The prince and his parents enter the banquet hall!"

The big doors swung open and revealed the stoic looking king and the smiling queen. Between them stood a young boy with the most piercing blue eyes, and dark hair, and a small, but distinct scar on his cheek… wait a second. Just when the realization hit her, the prince's eyes found hers. They held their stares a bit longer than usual before a full-on smile broke on his face. It wasn't the smirk she had seen before, but a happy grin. One that reached his eyes, and, apparently, reached hers because she found herself smiling despite herself. _He looked so different when he's… tidied up._

The royal family in celebration continued walking, nodded and met with some of the attendees of the ball, and disappeared, much to Emma's dismay. She found herself seeking her parents. Well, her father in particular. When she reached him, she tugged on his cape hard enough to draw his attention from the long-nosed gentleman he was talking with to her. He bent down to meet her eyes with a 'what is it, honey?' smile.

"You didn't tell me."

He opened and closed his mouth as if the words about to come out were wrong. Finally, he said, "Well I thought I'd surprise you. You were, after all, the hero in this… in a weird kind of way." His face twisted in sudden realization.

"I wasn't surprised," she deadpanned. "I was disappointed. That boy belittled me! Told me I couldn't kill an ogre!"

The kind king sighed. "Well, can you? Have you ever?"

"N-no! But I haven't tried yet, daddy!" she reasoned, her voice faltering.

"Honey, when you're old enough, daddy'll teach you how to kill ogres…" he blinked twice as he just realized what he had promised her little girl. "Or just how to ride a horse," he said, reeling his words. "But for now, we have a ball to enjoy."

She stomped her feet on the ground and folded her arms in front of her chest as her father straightened his stance. She stared up at him defiantly, a frown on her face. But before her father could say anything, she was already marching away from him. The king could try chasing after the little girl, but he knew better.

* * *

They meet each other's eyes as he was speaking with a much older man and his wife. He seemed to be so good at keeping up with them as they compliment and admire his every fiber of being. She could literally feel his ego from across the room, and when he sends her that smirk from where he was standing, well… let's just say a princess can have her temper sometimes. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

Now what? She asked herself as she surveyed the room full of adults.

Before anyone knew it, a plate of crackers had disappeared from the banquet and a little princess was hiding underneath one of the tables in the least populated area of the hall.

Let her mommy and daddy be worried to send a search party for her, too, she thought with a laugh and a snort.

"That's not a sound a princess would make," a familiar voice said. And with the gap of the table mantle and the ground, she saw a pair of boots stop directly in front of her table.

Her heart pounded as it meant that she was found out and she was pretty sure her parents would not be very happy about her hiding under a table. She waited, held her breath, but only a defeated sigh sounded from the person standing in front of her table. And before she knew it, the boy from the forest—apparently, also the same person as the lost prince—had ducked and crawled to her side, sitting with a thud beside her. She glared at him in the dimness, while he grinned at her with mirth.

"You seem so keen on giving me your glares, princess," he noted, tilting his head in amusement. "But I bet you'd look even more beautiful if you just smile more often."

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed at him.

His brows shot up in pure astonishment. "Well, this is basically _my_ castle, _my_ ball, I'm allowed everywhere."

"No, I didn't mean—I meant, you shouldn't be under a table," she said, shaking her head.

"You shouldn't be, either," he said, giving her that familiar, infuriating smirk. "But then, again, here you are. Here **we** are."

They stared defiantly at each other for three long seconds before the prince's eyes were averted to the plate of crackers she had stolen from the banquet table. His brows shot up again as a smile lit up his face. He reached for one of the crackers and waved it in front of her face.

"Hm, a thief, too," he said to her. "I wonder what your parents will think about this."

"They need not know that a plate of crackers had harmlessly been taken from the table," she said, feigning confidence in her tone. "I'm certain your kingdom can afford hundreds of those and one taken wouldn't hurt."

He gave her an amused nod, "Point taken."

He munched on the food in his hand in silence, stretching his legs in front of him, and then they spent the next few seconds in silence before the princess broke it.

"Really, why are you here? I thought this was **your** ball," she asked, imitating his tone from earlier.

"I'm bored," he replied, and for the first time, he seemed genuine, even with such a shallow statement. "This was why I ran away."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "So you weren't kidnapped by pirates?"

He gave her an almost shy smile, his blue eyes twinkling with memories as if he just had the time of his life. "No, I snuck into their ship."

"That's… preposterous!"

He gave her a chuckle and turned to fully face her. "I did, believe me! I thought, for a moment, that I was going to be found out and executed. But when they saw me hiding amidst the barrels of mead, they immediately thought I was an orphan and took me under their wings! It was the most exhilarating month of my life."

"You… sailed with them?" she asked, genuinely amused.

"That and more," he nodded, suddenly reminiscent. "Life in this castle sucks the breath and life out of me. Books, lessons, dinners, formalities. Don't you ever get tired?"

She opened her mouth to retort, to tell him that he's wrong, but there was this ache in her chest that had sprouted when he told her about his adventures. And then she remembered why she was down there, hiding from the ball, and from her parents. Like him, she was seeking something else entirely. She just didn't know what it was until then.

So, instead of answering him with words, she answered him with a genuine smile. It felt so foreign to her, smiling like that to someone that's not her parents.

"See?" he said, smiling back. "You're more beautiful when you smile."

She couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks as the compliment reached her ears. There's something about this boy that's both infuriating and charming at the same time and Emma might not admit this to anyone, but she can certainly admit to herself that she likes this boy. A little bit.

"Hey," he spoke again. "D'you want to get out of here?"

"To where?"

"There's a place in the garden where the stars are brighter," he said, reaching out his open hand to her. His eyes held a promise of adventure in them and Emma couldn't help but be ensnared. "Are you alright getting that white dress muddied?"

"I did once try to hunt for ogres in a dress some weeks ago," she shrugged at him, but giving him a nod. He smiled his widest grin ever as he remembered their chance encounter.

She took his hand and he helped her up and out from under the table, sprinting towards the back of the hall where there was a door through the kitchen that led to a series of other halls and a staircase down. The last door they opened revealed her to the cold that is the outside world.

The garden would be dark if it weren't for the steady torches lined up along the edges of a cobblestone pathway. she didn't know she was zoning out, mesmerized by the garden in front of her, until Killian tugged on their still linked hands and said, "Come on, it's down this way."

As they trudged down to where he was leading them, Emma couldn't help but wonder if her parents were looking for her. And it felt great to feel like someone was missing her, even just for once. Maybe it was one of the enticing things about adventure—she might just have to ask him about that later. But for the moment, Emma ogled at the sight before her the moment they stopped.

It was a small, almost untouched, patch surrounded by a high wall of shrubbery. In the middle was a thick blanket of soft grass that looked like it had been there since the beginning of time. There are all sorts of flowers that looked like they had been carefully nurtured.

"Lancelot told me this place of the garden is enchanted—that it takes care of itself," he said, interrupting her train of thoughts as he led them to the middle, where the soft grass was. He sat on it, and patted the space next to him. She sat reluctantly, for the first time careful about her dress. "He told me that, one night, a pixie dropped from the sky and landed here, spilling her pixie dust all over the flowers and the air. Which made the flowers grow and never wilt, and the stars twinkle brighter during the night."

At the mention of the stars, she looked up and saw what he was talking about. The little dots of light never seemed as bright as this before. They seemed to be looking down upon them with smiles, and as silly as it was, she found herself smiling back. Little did she know that someone else was looking at her with an amused and admiring smile on his face, too.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, delicately.

But Killian was too distracted by her that he forgot what they were talking about. "What?"

"The pixie, what happened to her?" she said, turning her gaze to him.

"…well, I could ask Lancelot about that," he said, giving her an unsure smile. "But I've heard that she found her true love here."

"But pixies aren't allowed to fall in love!" she said, aghast. He chuckled at her horror, particularly amused with the magnitude of her shock at the matter.

"But it's love, Emma," he reasoned, his smile staying on his face, his blue eyes, brighter than the stars above, if that's even possible. "Everyone's allowed to fall in love. These stupid rules about fairies and pixies not allowed to fall in love are just… unacceptable."

They stayed in silence for the rest of the night, save for the moments when he pointed out to her the various constellations formed by the stars above. The bear, the archer, the twins. He said he got it all from his one-month adventure with the pirates, that they navigate with stars, and so she briefly wondered if there's more that he had learned and that if she could get that much knowledge if she just… had the chance to explore.

They eventually found themselves lying on the grass, their hands close to one another. And she vaguely remembered how his little finger linked with hers before eventually enveloping her hand into his. She smiled at the warmth she so needed and how this simple touch seemed to have provided her with it.

It was a few minutes… hours… they both didn't know… until someone found them. Someone, meaning Emma's and Killian's parents and some guards. They seemed disheveled and distraught, especially Killian's.

Emma couldn't help but overhear their concern when she and her parents were just a few feet away from them. Queen Snow White embraced her tightly, before holding her by her shoulders as King David stood behind her. "Are you alright, Emma?"

The little princess looked up at her father with an apologetic gaze, and then returned her eyes to Snow. "I am, mommy. I'm sorry. Killian and I…" she looked at him, and found that he was looking at her, too, a light hearted smile etched on his face. "He told me we'd see the stars brighter down here."

"That's great, sweetheart," the Queen replied, worry was still in her eyes. "But next time, you tell us, alright?"

She nodded absent-mindedly as her gaze returned to Killian who looked like he was receiving the same litany from his own parents. The best she could do was give him a smile, a grateful smile, hoping that it was enough to tell him that she's glad they went out to see the stars.

He returned her smile once again, and there's something in his brighter than blue eyes that held a promise. Hope.

* * *

They don't see each other until nine years later. When war was on the verge of breaking out.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: Thank you! That's all. And we get to rating T from here on._

* * *

Emma ran where her legs carried her as her mind wandered, the basin of water in her arms almost spilling over as she stumbled over a rock on the uneven, patchy, grass-covered ground. She gathered her bearings, sprinting once more to that cluster of tents in the clearing. She counted, maybe half a hundred tents scattered. Half a hundred… her heart lurched. These tents can house four to five people. How many are there?

It was quiet out there that only the chirping of the birds could be heard, but the nearer she got to the tents, the clearer she heard the agony.

"Emma!"

It was August who emerged from one of the tents, his eyes wide and searching, his face covered with thick blood that's not his own. His hands were visibly trembling and his chest was heaving.

"I got it!" she almost yelled, if it weren't for the lack of air in her lungs. Her sprint took on a faster pace, if that were even possible. "I got the water! Where's Leroy?"

"He's at the back with Nova," he replied as she stopped in front of him. He snatched the basin from her hands and turned to go back inside. when she made a move to follow, he turned to her with a stern look on his face, his free hand outstretched.

"You're not going in here, your majesty," he said, his voice stone cold. "Or any of the tents. The king and queen forbid even your presence here."

"But—

"—you are lucky I'm your friend."

August's eyes locked on hers, and when he found that her resolve had dissipated, he nodded in satisfaction before turning to disappear behind the thick canvas of the tent, leaving Emma standing there with disbelief in her eyes.

There's a war, Emma could feel it. But her parents were still denying its existence. They send soldiers to the West Kingdom and tell everybody that its to settle negotiations, but Emma knew better. Besides, it was getting suspicious that some of these soldiers didn't return alive.

"It's to save the kingdom from panic that should never be there in the first place," Queen Snow had told Emma when she had voiced out her concern about the matter.

"But it's there!" she reasoned.

King David, who was sitting beside his wife, stood to put a hand on Emma's shoulder, an infuriatingly calm expression on his face that troubled Emma more than anything else. "We will get this fixed before it becomes a war, we can assure you that."

"It's already a war, father," she told him, shaking her head in disbelief.

Her parents, the king and the queen, had never been this secretive, never been this… adamant on concealing the truth from the kingdom. There must be something with this war that's wrong. Terribly wrong. And hasn't it been what her parents had taught her from the start? That a princess, the next in line, should be concerned about her kingdom.

And so now, sixteen-year old princess Emma stood in front of a tent, listening to the agonized screams from the inside as four—five soldiers are being treated from their wounds by August and the other healers. She couldn't take it.

And so she ran to the back of the camp, carefully looking for people watching her as she made her way through the scattered tents. She didn't know where, but she knew she was needed somewhere and she wouldn't leave until she knows everything about the war.

She ducked under the ropes that held the tents in place, spotting one that looked a bit isolated from the others. She listened carefully for the sounds that **should** come out of it, because this was a medical aid camp after all. Peculiarly, though, she found that the only sound she could hear from it was a soft clatter of metals that she could only presume as the armor of whoever was inside.

She could only hide behind the canvas of the nearest tent to hide when a figure emerged from that particular one. It was a woman, Blue. She knew almost nothing of that woman except her appearance and the fact that she was the most skilled healer in the whole of the Enchanted Forest. She looked stoic as she walked away from that isolated tent, no blood in her hands, nor on her garments.

Emma eyed her curiously, and then the tent, before making a move to walk towards it. She gingerly lifted the slitted opening of the canvas, taking a careful peek at whoever was inside. There, on a bed in the middle of the spacious tent, seemingly alone unlike the other tents, was a soldier covered still in his armor, but his left arm. He was sitting up with his head hanging down, albeit frozen and rigid, as he cradled his left arm. Emma could see now why it was not covered with metal. She could not even see the wound, could not even locate it, what with all the red covering his skin. Whatever or wherever it was, it must be severe. Her stomach did an inglorious lurch.

"Are you coming in or not?" a voice, she figured was from the soldier, spoke.

"I-I'm not a healer," she stuttered, but found her feet carrying her inside.

The soldier, with immense effort, lifted his geared head, and through the slit for his eyes, she could see how deep the blue were in there. His eyes were bright and red with brimming tears, but they hold so much resolution despite his injury.

"That's good," he chuckled. "I'm getting sick of them."

They spent a few seconds of silence, staring at each other. She found his eyes disconcertingly familiar, almost as if she had seen the constellations in them before. It was a memory dotted in her mind like the stars in the skies that only shone when she looked closely.

"Then what is your purpose here if not to distract me from the pain?"

Oh, alright. The filthiness in that sentence could battle with sewage and win and Emma found herself wanting to spout something about talking to royals. But she prevented herself from doing so in fear that it may blow her cover.

So, instead, she rolled her eyes and proceeded to stand in front of him. "I'm here to ask—as the royal, uh, adviser—about the war."

His eyes looked far away, distant, but it was curiously focused on hers. He blinked once and spoke again. "You seem unknowledgeable for a royal, uh, adviser," he said, mimicking her nervousness, and she could just hear the infuriating smirk in his voice.

"I'm new," she sputtered, giving him a glare. She found herself wondering why a soldier could not recognize his princess. But then shrugged inwardly because this was helping her and she need not take it for granted.

"Take my helmet off, if you'd be so kind. It's getting in the way of my beauty," he said to her, giving her a nod.

Emma scoffed. But her hands were already grasping on both sides of the head gear, yanking it up. But, alright. She was not prepared. Not at all.

She was not prepared to admit to herself that the helmet was indeed getting in the way of his beauty. And damn, he could look every bit battered and still be that… okay, Emma, get your bearings together. He is just a soldier… is he? But his armor looked different, looked too decorated, too bright. And he was all by himself.

His bright blue eyes were searing through her head and it was setting her nerves off in the most unexpected way. And for the silliest reasons, she found herself afraid that he might have heard her thoughts.

"You're staring, love," his lilting voice whispered.

Emma shook her head and returned her focus back on the matter at hand. "Right, yeah. So, tell me."

"Tell you what exactly?"

"About the war, why it started, how," she said, her tirade of words giving away her peculiar eagerness.

He was giving her this knowing look, as if he knew something about her that she did not want to be known. As if he knew why she was there, or who she really was. And then, as if ending an argument in his head, he nodded at no one in particular. "Alright," he breathed.

"Alright?" she repeated, her eyes widening. Waiting.

And then he smirked. "Alright… in one condition, my lady."

"C-condition?" There must be some kind of quota for unpreparedness for her because this was getting more and more ridiculous by the second.

"A kiss," he replied, not waiting for her question because he could see it in her eyes. "A kiss in exchange for anything you want to know."

Her eyes widened, as if that were even possible. And also, as if hearing her unspoken disbelief, he added, with that breathy tone again, "Anything."

It took her about ten seconds before coming up with a good reply. "I am not going to kiss you for that information. I could ask somebody else!" She made to turn around and exit as quickly as she could, but his voice caught her as if physically.

"But are you not curious as to why I'm alone?" he said, and his voice held all the mysteries she was itching to unravel. "All the other soldiers are with their mates. There must be a reason."

She turned around to face him again, stone cold expression on her face. She knew what this was. It was a bait and she's not going to play. "I am going to get that information without touching you," she declared.

"Oh, but, you see," he said, tilting his head, his dark hair getting mussed up further and _damn him_ for looking so… Emma, focus! "I am in terrible pain and am ready to spout anything to drive the pain away. Anything."

"No," she replied, curt and tough.

"Something tells me the lady hasn't been kissed by anyone yet," he mused to himself, narrowing his eyes at her in mock curiosity.

"For your information, I have been kissed before!" she retorted, and that may not be the best reply to ever come out of her mouth. But instead of a cocky comeback, she found his eyes intensely staring into hers. As if what she had said had stirred something in him.

_How dare this stranger?_

"Then, be not afraid, lady," he said, giving her a shit eating grin. "One quick kiss and everything will be yours."

He must have gotten everything he had wanted with that look on his face because it looked practiced to perfection. What's more infuriating about it was that Emma found herself contemplating her decisions.

Making a snap decision in her head, her feet seemingly moving on their own accord, she bent down to meet his eyes. "This is a one time thing," she said, and damn her because it came out breathy.

He was already looking at her lips, his gaze dark and hooded, and his lips parted even in a sly smirk.

She craned her neck lower to meet his lips.

Okay, she meant for it to be quick, she meant for herself to pull away the moment their lips touch. But all thoughts of the information she so desperately needed were abandoned when she felt a tingling sensation starting from where they are touching quickly spreading through her—and fast. Curiosity, that's what it was, she told herself when that chaste kiss turned deeper and more urgent.

Suddenly, her hand was in his mussed up hair, tugging at it, and her eyes were instinctively fluttering shut. And all she could focus was the need to feel his surprisingly soft lips, a soft sigh escaping her as he moved to kiss her back.

It was the urge to be closer, to feel more of him, that prompted her to plant her knee on the mattress, just beside his thigh, half-straddling him. Her other hand was in his hair now, and he was making this sinful sound at the back of his throat that kindled a fire in Emma's veins.

It was when the need for air became urgent that they both pulled away, foreheads still touching, eyes still closed. She could have lingered in that moment for a while longer, until he spoke.

"Who was it, Emma?" he breathed against her lips. Only then did her eyes open suddenly, her heart pounding and her head spinning. She could have misheard, but she didn't. He knew her name.

She shoved at his good shoulder in confusion, careful about his other one. "What?"

"Who was the first one that kissed you?" he asked, his hooded eyes never leaving her lips.

"H-how—who are you?"

He sighed in resignation. "The lost prince—

"—Killian?! Killian Jones?" she almost shrieked, coming down from the high. Now she knows why those blue eyes were startlingly familiar.

"Aye, love," he replied, giving her an uncharacteristically shy smile.

Her eyes widened in confusion and anger, but she was still ensnared between his good arm and his body and it was doing something to dissipate some of her anger. And then, realization dawned on her. "Y-you knew who I was from the beginning!"

"I did," he admitted, chuckling. "I never forgot. How could I?"

Her mouth opened to give some kind of retort, but the words never came because… _he never forgot._

"B-but you were in the battles," she stuttered and damn her, it was making her sound weak.

"Stuttering doesn't suit you, princess," he said, but instead of giving her a smirk like he had so fondly given her the whole time they were in that tent, he gave her a soft smile. "I was in the battles, it was my choice."

"You're… you're the prince! The next in line," she said in confusion. She seemed to be confused a lot lately and it wasn't doing her any good.

"And the front in line in the battles," he replied, tilting his head in amusement. "You said you wanted to know about the war? Well, there is a war, and it's going to be big."

And then he chuckled, mostly to himself, about some joke she apparently had missed. "What's funny, Jones?" she asked, straightening herself up and out from his embrace despite him holding on to her a bit more tightly. She stood in front of him, straightening her dress.

"Well, the point of this war is to protect the giants from being completely eradicated by the West Kingdom," he replied, and the joke dawned on her. "We're fighting for and with them."

"They exist?"

"Oh, they do, princess," he smirked. "Apparently, your parents, the king and the queen, had so carefully kept their existence a secret so as not to raise panic from the people of your kingdom. But the West had made it known that they are not allowed in this realm to exist."

"So… this is about saving the giants?"

"Yes—

"Emma!" a third, excruciatingly familiar male voice called. She turned around to see August peeking from the canvas' slit opening. "There you are! We have been looking all over for you."

"We?" Emma asked, her heart pounding madly in her chest.

"I and the king and queen," he replied, giving her an exasperated glare. "I'm sorry, your majesty. The princess has to go," he said to Killian who only had his eyes set on Emma's.

"Then go," he replied, nodding at August. "We will meet again, Emma."

She let August drag her out of the tent to meet her worried parents, all litany and things. But she couldn't take her mind off of… Killian.

* * *

They don't meet again until two years later, when the war was about to have its biggest and bloodiest battle.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Okay, this chapter is probably the reason for the T rating because... well, surprise! Also, happy Christmas and New Year! I love you all.

**Emma,**

_I bet you did not expect me to write a letter to you._

_The truth is that I did not expect for myself to write to you, too. But everyone in here is so bent on gathering parchment and ink and is clamoring for words to send home to their loved ones, so I'd figured I would snatch one and do the same. Also, if you are wondering why I am not writing to my parents, I also figured it would not be worth the time and effort. They already hate me for volunteering for the war. I have nothing to say to them._

_As for you, my lady, I am writing to you because I am still thinking about our kiss. I can, for the love of all that is holy, not get you out of my mind. Every single damn time that I am alone, you infiltrate my thoughts. One may think it is madness to have a woman walking through their thoughts day and night, but they have never met you. Or known you. Or felt your lips on theirs. I strongly wish they never will, for then, real madness will ensue._

_I have not the ability to string words into a beautiful image like paints on canvas, but I hope my thoughts are enough._

_Also, I know that you hate me for stealing your first kiss. First REAL kiss._

_—The Lost Prince_

**Killian,**

_You are NOT my first kiss. But I still hate you._

_And I already told you, you are next in line. Having you killed in battle will not bid well with the kingdom. Your parents have the right to hate you right now. Why don't you just go home?_

_—Emma, not your lady_

**Emma, not my lady,**

_So much for creative words. Thank you. And I have volunteered myself, I am doing my part._

_Do you remember that time when we were under a table, I told you I had wanted adventure? This is it. And I thought dying in the battles is the greatest adventure there is. I am starting to rethink that. But I still retain that fighting in the battles is better than sitting on a throne in the middle of the day wondering about whether or not we will survive the war._

_Something tells me a certain princess is adamant on keeping her first kiss alive. I wouldn't mind you waiting for me to give you your second._

_—Your Lost Prince_

Emma stared at the parchment for a long while, fighting off the full-on smile that's threatening to show on her face even though she was in her room and no one was around. She just wouldn't want to admit to herself that she found the flirty and spontaneous letters endearing.

She had her fill of disgustingly romantic letters from suitors all around the realm and it had fondly been her hobby every Thursday night to burn them in flames with a maniacal laugh… alright, that was a bit extreme. But for the longest time, she had not taken the time to even consider reading them.

But this one day, a white pigeon perched on her window ledge, a roll of parchment attached to its… wait, it only has one foot.

"Mom!" she called, thinking it was her mother's countless pets that she kept just a few feet down from her bed chambers. Seriously, there's a freaking display just down below her room of every pair of animals that ever existed. Before she could call again, she found herself reaching out for the roll tied to its only foot. And then there she was, breaking tradition, breaking the habit, reading Killian Jones' letter.

She hadn't meant to. Like she hadn't meant to reply, either.

The letters didn't come everyday. Sometimes, it would take weeks at most before the next one arrives by the same single- footed pigeon, and Emma would **not** hastily unroll the parchment to read whatever jest or sentiment the soldier prince had written for her.

And she **did not** worry if the letters come in late. She **did not** think if he were still alive. **No**. And if he was killed, she would know, right? Everyone would know. So she did **not** worry about him. Not a single damn bit of time to devote to wondering if he was buried in a pit, lifeless.

Soon, his flirty messages turned into deep longing, and her elusive statements turned into understanding. There were times he would send her one-liner letters and she would respond with the same. And then she wondered if the number of words measured the emotions hidden behind them.

**Emma,**

_I miss home._

_—Killian_

**Killian,**

_Then go home._

_—Emma_

They both know that home meant something else entirely, and that going back to it didn't necessarily mean getting on a ship to the East Kingdom. Maybe, just maybe, to him, it meant getting on a horse to travel a day to a castle not far away where a certain stubborn and headstrong princess _might_ be waiting for him. The urge had always been strong, but he had that iron sense of control over himself.

One day, it broke.

And that one day was the day, two years later, when they got the news that the West Kingdom would be sending its biggest battalion to date. It was the fear that gripped every one of the soldiers that pushed them to write their potential good bye letters to their families back home. Killian Jones had other things in mind.

And so, getting on his dark as night steed, he left by morning.

* * *

It swirled in her mind, the words that hit her ears the moment she passed by the conference hall.

"…biggest battalion to date… we're expecting no less than half of ours to not return alive."

And with that chance that she might not see him again had she thought of Killian, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his adventures with the pirates. That was more than a decade ago, but it was instilled in her mind. Just like their first kiss.

_Oh God, Emma, you sound like a teenager._

_But, I __**am **__a teenager._

She should have gotten a letter by now, somehow reminding her that he was still alive. Maybe some kind of spine-tingling innuendo that would make her cringe. He would have a ball jesting about her missing his letters. But right now, she couldn't wish any harder for that one-footed pigeon to perch on her window sill once again with a parchment roll tied to its foot.

She did not know how long she had sat there, looking out her window, until she saw the sun hiding under the horizon. She sighed and felt her heart clench tightly in her chest.

This was pointless, she thought, turning away from the magnificent view. But her attention was caught when a gray blur went past the side of her face. She only saw what it was the moment it landed on her floor. It was a rock, a fairly huge one that could have knocked her out if it did anything but miss her head a few inches.

"What the—" she returned to the window to apprehend the attacker, leaning heavily on the sill. "You could have hit—"

"I didn't," said a dark, lilting voice that sounds achingly familiar. Her heart stopped for a fraction of a second before starting back up, hammering in a mix of nervousness and anticipation. She would know that voice anywhere; it was the voice that spoke in her head as she read the letters, the voice she so vividly remembered. And then she found those blue orbs staring back up at her even in the dimming sunset. She found them like the brightest lights in the darkest tunnel.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. He shook his head with a tight frown, not the response she expected, and before she knew it, he was planting his foot on a stone on the wall that led to her window. What is he—is he climbing?

She could try yelling at him to get down from there, to stop, but she couldn't risk alarming her parents, could she? So instead, she resorted to hissing commands at him, commands that he ignored with a smirk as he hoisted himself up every crevice he could spot until he reached her window.

"Give me a hand, love," he said, hooking his arm on the sill. Despite her protests, she reached out both her arms to pull him up. He landed, surprisingly gracefully on his two feet, dusting off his shirt.

He looked up to see Emma, hands on the side of her waists, a stern expression on her eyes. His smirk widened.

"What in hell are you doing here?" she seethed, careful not to let anybody hear that there's a boy in her room.

"That's not a very lady-like language, my lady," he replied, punctuating on the last couple of words, giving her an annoying curtsy that *did not* make her smile. "I'm visiting you. Before I may or may not die tomorrow," he added, a kind of seriousness in his tone that was unfamiliar. He saw Emma's facade falter as her eyes softened. _So he did have an effect on her._

"You decided to go to me before you… why me?"

He chuckled silently, looking at her through his lashes. "If the letters don't give anything away, I don't know what else to direct you to, love."

They stared at each other in silence.

He knew that look, when her eyes narrow and she tilts her head. That look means she was scrutinizing him and his words, trying to decipher some hidden meaning. He was going to tell her that the meaning had been laid bare for her to see and that there really is no need for deciphering, but he knew that it would be as taxing as climbing her wall. He knew that she would argue until the last breath, and that's one of the things he loved about her. But right now, he hadn't gotten the time.

"Come with me," he said, stretching his hand and seeking her eyes in the dimming light of her room.

"Where?" she asked, suspicion evident in her tone. It looked to him as though she was keeping her eyes on his hand so as to avoid his eyes.

He sighed, but gave her a weary smile. "To see the stars."

He watched as her face fell, resolve and strength fading away as, for a small moment, she let her real emotions float to the surface. It was sad and longing, and the urge to make her feel better gripped in his heart like the iron that was his decision to join the battles. He couldn't do with both.

"The last time we went to see the stars, we didn't see each other for almost a decade," she whispered, and he almost did not catch it, with how hushed it sounded from her lips.

He looked at her, trying to find the words to comfort her, but the only way he could do that, as it seemed, was to promise her that he would return when everything is over. But even _he_ could not know about whether that's a promise that he could keep. So he kept his mouth shut, swallowing the words that could have easily been lies.

"Emma," he breathed quietly, taking a step towards her, his arm dropping to his side. "What is this?"

It felt like the wrongest time to try and find out whatever is between them, but there was no other time than then. She dropped her gaze to the floor, her arms folding in front of her chest, palms rubbing on her skin as if she was trying to warm herself up.

He took the remaining necessary steps to finally reach her, putting his fingers under her chin to return her eyes to him. She met his gaze again, albeit reluctantly.

"I shouldn't have asked that," he whispered, searching her eyes for any emotion. "But my request still stands. Will you…" he breathed slowly, his gaze dropping to her lips as he remembered how they felt against his, and how, even with time, he still remembered night and day. "…come see the stars with me tonight?"

Her eyelids fluttered as she felt his breath against her lips, and he watched as her tongue ran along to wet them. It was deliberate, slow, and _God, he had been dying to taste them since the moment she exited his tent two years ago._ It took him his whole will to meet her eyes once again. His heart skipped when he found that she was looking at his mouth with a hooded gaze, her lips parted and her breath uneven.

She felt herself gravitating towards him, the heat of his body enough to warm her. They were so close, and if she just… crane her neck a little bit… his thumb was now running along her lower lip, a feather light touch that sent shivers down her spine, parting her lips. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. There was a strange sense of warmth that enveloped her heart the moment she realized that he had traveled from the camp all the way here. She's not sure exactly how far that is, but she's sure it was pretty far. And he did that for _her_.

"Emma," he breathed huskily, his voice a mixture of adoration, frustration, and curiosity. Her hand travelled from his chest to the back of his neck, playing with his hair, tugging at it gently, making him groan quietly. She watched as his eyelids fall shut, and she could hear the effort he put in steadying his breathing.

His hand dropped from her chin to skim her waist, his palm steady but gentle and warm against the fabric of her dress.

"You want to kiss me," came her hushed but brazen voice.

"I do," he replied.

"Why don't you?"

"Do you want me to—

But he didn't get to finish his question as she closed the distance between their lips. The kiss was soft, chaste at the most of its meaning, but it ignited something within Killian that he couldn't put his finger on. It was delicate, the moment, and he would do anything for this particular sliver of time to just freeze. But, as it so evidently seemed, time was moving as she pressed her lips harder on his, urging him to also move—and who could resist when she was pressing her body against his? He pulled her into him by her waist, locking her into place with his arms around her.

She made this small delighted sound as he made to move his hand to tangle in her hair, angling her head to kiss her deeper. He skimmed his tongue along the seam of her lips, her opening up to him in his silent command.

Tongue to tongue, teeth clattering together, the sensation was enough to drive her insane. What she had said about Killian not being her first kiss might be true, but this one felt like the first real one. She nipped at his bottom lip, dragging it into her mouth, sucking and gently biting—but not gentle enough to _not_ leave a mark. He growled at this, both amused and infuriated at her defiance.

She pulled away with much effort it seemed to him that it physically pained her to do so. She rested her forehead against him, their eyes still closed, as he absentmindedly thumbed at the fabric of the back of her dress. Their breaths mingled on the quiet air around them, a weird silence at this time of the night.

"I thought…" she exhaled, still catching her breath. "We were going to see the stars."

He opened his eyes to meet her eager ones, his expression going from soft adoration to a grin that made him look like that little boy from some years ago. Her heart fluttered at the memory.

"We are," he replied, taking her hand in his before stealing a quick kiss that left her just as breathless. He tugged at her arm and went for the door, but she pulled him back.

"We can't go through the halls," she whispered, shaking her head. "There are guards there and God knows what my parents will do to you when they find out that you've sneaked past the security."

"What do you suggest then?" he asked, raising a challenging brow. He watched as a wicked grin spread across her face.

"We go the way you went in," she replied, looking at the window from where he had entered.

"Are you sure about that, princess?" he said, a teasing in his tone as he mirrored her grin. "That's quite a fall."

She gave him a small smile, locking their gazes. "I can handle it."

* * *

They made it to a clearing some yards west of the palace, but not without stumbling from the very last stone of the wall that separated the vicinity of the palace from the nearby forest before they reach the ground, her landing on top of him and squeezing the breath out of his lungs.

"Come on," he said to her after running down a particularly steep slope that led to the shore of the lake surrounding the palace. She seemed frozen in place, her eyes skimming the depth of the slope and then his outstretched hand, fear in her eyes. "Come on, Emma."

"I-I can't—

"Emma," he called, seeking to reach her eyes with his. "Look at me. Trust me."

Her eyes rose to meet his, the fear, much to his heart's content, dissipating as a strong resolve broke a small grin on her face. _There's my princess._

She took a tentative step forward—but, much to his utter surprise, she plopped on the ground and started sliding down with a shriek. Apparently without care if her dress got ruined or if it rode up her thighs on her way down. He scampered to reach where she was supposed to land, crouching down on the grass to meet and catch her, possibly slowing her momentum in the process. Not without tumbling around a little bit right at the moment of impact.

They slid on the soft ground a few more inches before stopping completely, both of them out of breath and with adrenaline surging through their veins.

He laughed at their absurd entanglement, her on the ground and him half on top of her, both chests heaving. His laugh reverberated through her chest, making her chuckle, too. Their faces were so close that she could feel his short breaths on her cheeks. She lifted her hand and ran her finger along his jaw, tracing its sharp line delicately. His smile slowly faded and turned into a heated and mesmerized gaze, his eyes following the movements of her hand. She felt him swallow hard and—  
was it really a crime to feel satisfied that she has as much effect on him as he has on her? And that she couldn't quite get enough of him?

"Emma," he whispered, adoration and unrestrained lust laced through his tone.

She raised her chin, her lips mere inches from his and he could just lean down to catch them but she was already shoving him away with a playful giggle. His back made contact with the ground next to her with a soft thud, knocking some breath out of him.

"I'm here to see the stars, Jones," she said, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him. "Don't get cheeky."

He gave a scoff and a soft smile before looking up at the velvet sky dotted with tiny lights. He felt his breath slow down as his eyes trained on the mesmerizing lights. Pity they were not seeing it the way they did when they were still children. He was then starting to think it was the legend that made them see the stars in a different way, not the pixie dust. It was the illusion of the legend that had made them believe that the stars were brighter.

He heard her sigh, deep and contented, and it resurfaced all the thoughts of his impending doom because… well, how many things had he still not known about this woman? Probably a load of things that would just keep on adding up, because this woman seriously is a mystery on her own. What did she want to be other than a princess? What keeps her up at night? What lulls her to sleep? There're a lot of things that he wished to learn about her, but given the circumstances, he might not get to know them at all anymore.

They stayed in what seemed like a perpetual silence that peculiarly silenced his demons for a little while. All he felt was the tickling of the grass on his skin, the tranquil weight of the stars in the evening sky, and the warm hand that had enveloped his throughout his thinking. Just like some years ago.

Just like it.

"Did you think the legend was true?" she asked.

"The what?"

"The legend… about the pixie that fell on your garden?"

Silence followed before he answered. "I _did_… for some time."

"Good," she replied quietly.

"Why?" he asked, tearing his gaze away from the stars to glance at her. She was still marvelling at the sky, but he could see the deep contemplation on her face. Even with that, even with her hair sprawled on the ground, she looked beautiful. Beautiful in the sense that she could battle with the constellations and win.

"Because I believed, too," she replied, and it could only just be his imagination, but her grip on his hand tightened. "I don't want to have believed alone."

When she finally met his stare, there was a simple smile on her face that made his heart slow down. "Emma—" he started, but her hand tightened once again around his and it halted his words. Which was good, because he actually had nothing to say.

"You're going to come back," she said, more of a command than anything else. Her eyes softened with what looked like desperation and it broke him. "You're going to come back alive. Tell me you are."

And somehow, this, her pleading for him to come back to her, her deep pull, her desperation—it made everything harder than it already is and it was slowly breaking him. If he only could, he would stay and just be there. And he would devote his life to her, climbing walls, falling down from them, rolling down slopes, staring up at stars… kissing her. He would. He wanted to. But he couldn't.

"I can't promise anything, Emma," he said, rising from the dirt into a sitting position as she did so, too. "You know I can't."

"I'm not asking you to promise me anything," she said, shaking her head and looking at the ground between them before returning her gaze to him. "I'm asking you to try."

With what little words he had at the tip of his tongue, he tipped her chin up so that their eyes were leveled, and gave her a small smile. "You did not have to tell me, love."

And then she kissed him softly. It took him a few seconds before his eyelids fluttered shut as the acute sparks that lit his senses spread through his whole being like wildfire. It was feather light in its sense, but it made his heart hammer painfully in his chest and God—how could she do that? They stayed that way for what felt like an eternity until he willed himself to pull away… only to be pulled back into her when she reached out for his collar and yanked at it.

A startled grunt escaped him as their lips reconnected, this time hard and rough with their teeth clashing against each other. She pulled his body closer, her palms travelling to his shoulders, as his own hands cradled her cheeks with delicacy, afraid that everything will dissolve in his hold the moment he felt her skin under his palms.

"Killian," she whispered against his lips. He interrupted her with his own, silencing whatever she has to say with a languid kiss that both left them breathless and gasping for air. When they pulled away once again, foreheads resting against the other, she put a hand on his chest. "Killian," she laughed, and even with her eyes closed, she could feel him staring at her with that painfully adorable look of confusion. "Horses," she added breathlessly.

"What?" he asked, voice roughly husky.

"I can hear them," she replied, distancing herself from his intoxicating embrace. "Someone's coming and I'm guessing those are armed men in metal that will tear you limb from limb for kidnapping the princess."

She opened her eyes to see him giving her this stupidly wide grin. "For your information, going willingly is not kidnapping."

"Who would believe you… pirate?"

He was about to retort with something witty, but there it was—the sound of the hooves of horses getting nearer by the second. "Come on, princess, let's get you back to your castle."

He stood and offered her a hand, but it was hastily ignored with a self-satisfied smirk as she tried dusting her dress off, being the defiant woman that she was. Although she did take his hand whilst running through the narrow pathway of the forest to the shortest way to her palace wing.

They stopped altogether in front of the entrance to the kitchen, careful not to let their steps alarm the people inside.

As her eyes flicked to his, that's when it hit him.

That tomorrow, he would face death and challenge it and he might not come back alive. And that this may be the last breath of air that he would breathe with Emma. He felt his heart leaden in his chest as his breathing became heavy.

It must have shown in his eyes because she stepped closer to him and cradled his face in her hands. He leaned into her touch with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Hey," she murmured. "It's going to be alright."

He hummed his reluctant agreement, and then brought his lips to hers. And for the few seconds that it lasted, no one moved to deepen it. Those few seconds lifted most of the heaviness out of his heart, silenced his demons, and made him feel light headed. It was the quickest kiss they had shared that night, but it felt like the one with the most words left unsaid behind it.

He pulled away and backed away from her embrace with a light smile grazing his lips. "I'll see you," he said. "I'll find you."

"When this is over," she nodded. "You'll come looking for me."

"Always."

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the forest, leaving Emma with tears brimming her eyes that she did not let him see and a shuddering sigh that she kept in her chest for until he left. It felt like all the air in the world left with him, and for a few moments, it became hard to breathe.

When she entered the backdoor to the kitchen, she couldn't help but notice the knowing look that Granny sent her way.

* * *

They don't meet again until one year later, when the war was about to end.


End file.
